


His Thoughts, Spattered On Loose-Leaf Paper

by J_E_McCormick



Series: His Thoughts, Spattered On Loose-Leaf Paper [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (non explicit), M/M, Other, TW:Suicide, um, yeah i got nothing really its just sad as hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_E_McCormick/pseuds/J_E_McCormick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan wasn’t there, but a huge scattering of loose-leaf paper was, which suggested he was around somewhere. Courfeyrac smiled as he picked up one sheet, scanning over his boyfriend’s neat, cursive handwriting, the predicted poem about rain trailing down before stopping abruptly. Courfeyrac hummed thoughtfully, and picked up another aborted poem. Perhaps Jehan was having one of his dreaded inspiration-blocks.</p>
<p>The last page was outside their bathroom – the edge near one corner was stained by a dot of blood, as if Jehan had cut himself on the paper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Thoughts, Spattered On Loose-Leaf Paper

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse. I was sad and this happened.  
> Uh, non-explicit in terms of description, but yes, suicide does happen.

The house was silent, but that wasn’t unusual. Jehan was not a loud person, Courfeyrac knew; he’d probably find his boyfriend curled up in a pile of blankets on their bed, staring wistfully out of the window at the light rain. Jehan loved the rain, wrote endless poems about it on loose-leaf scattered around the house. Courfeyrac hoped there might be some new ones for Jehan to whisper against the skin behind his ear as they curled up together.

“Jehan, love, I’m home.” He called out. He wasn’t expecting a response, thinking Jehan was probably engrossed in his thoughts, lost in his own world, but it was something of a habit.

He toed off his shoes and dropped his bag by the door, next to Jehan’s things, then padded through to the bedroom.

Jehan wasn’t there, but a huge scattering of loose-leaf paper was, which suggested he was around somewhere. Courfeyrac smiled as he picked up one sheet, scanning over his boyfriend’s neat, cursive handwriting, the predicted poem about rain trailing down before stopping abruptly. Courfeyrac hummed thoughtfully, and picked up another aborted poem. Perhaps Jehan was having one of his dreaded inspiration-blocks.

He continued to collect together the loose sheets of paper, a frown creasing between his eyes as the writing became more and more like a scrawl, the words scattering away from the subject of rain and spiralling darkly downwards. Jehan had moods like this sometimes, where his poetry was melancholy, or dark, or twisted – but some of these half-formed stanzas (and they were becoming less and less poetic as they went) were deeply unsettling in a way Courfeyrac wasn’t sure Jehan had crafted.

The last pages were strewn across the floor, slightly crumpled, words smudged and barely-legible, incomplete thoughts spattered over the paper, completely ignoring the ruled lines.

“Jehan?” Courfeyrac called, his eyes darting between words – one sheet that seemed covered with quotes from the work of Poe, which worried Courfeyrac as much as the next one, Jehan’s own words that scrawled into each other. “Jehan, love, please answer me.”

The last page was outside their bathroom – the edge near one corner was stained by a dot of blood, as if Jehan had cut himself on the paper.

The sheet simply had ‘I’m sorry’ written across it in large black letters. At the bottom, in smaller handwriting, ‘I love you. – Jehan’ was written. Courfeyrac felt a lump form in his throat.

“Sweetheart...” Courfeyrac gingerly pushed open the door, desperately pushing down the screaming suspicions in the back of his head. _No, no, no, no..._

Dark liquid red contrasted sharply with white tile. Loose-leaf paper fluttered to the floor. For a moment, Courfeyrac simply stood, and stared, and trembled.

Jehan was completely motionless.

“Jehan, _Jehan, Jehan ANSWER ME **.**_ ” Courfeyrac’s voice steadily rose, cracking and breaking and giving way to a loud, keening wail. He dropped to his knees beside his boyfriend – not his body, _not his body_ – and his hands fluttered over him, touching briefly on his cheeks, his lips, his chest, his neck...

Courfeyrac sobbed, falling forwards to press against Jehan ( _he’s not there, he’s not there, he’s gone_ ), his arms wrapping around him to cradle him desperately, fingers working through loose, mussed hair, rubbing circles into the small of his back, soothing, comforting gestures lost on someone who could no longer feel them. He knelt there, rocking and sobbing and pleading and screaming, pleas and apologies and pure grief spilling from both lips and eyes, for how long he didn’t know.

Without releasing Jehan’s body, Courfeyrac fumbled his phone from his pocket and called the first person on his speed-dial.

“Courfeyrac?” Combeferre’s questioning voice came through the speaker. Courfeyrac choked down another wail.

“Y-you need to come to mine a-and Je-... Combeferre, J-Jehan killed himself.”

**Author's Note:**

> The bad thing is that I want to write more in this universe to explore befores and afters. What do you guys think? Would you read more stuff about this universe??


End file.
